


Winter is a Beginning

by Autumn_Llleaves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Llleaves/pseuds/Autumn_Llleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. The tourney at Harrenhal never took place, Rhaegar never kidnapped Lyanna. Instead, the Rebellion was provoked by the Lannisters after the Mad King ordered Tywin executed. Jaime ends up taking the throne, and Jon Arryn arranges a match between him and Lyanna Stark. Both Targaryen brothers are on the run, but the infant Daenerys remains a ward of the crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, this is, as you can see, a major AU, so it covers a lot of pre-canon chronology. Therefore, it will have many LARGE parts. I don't think I'll do it quickly. (No, I'm not pretending to be another George Martin, I just love to make grand plans and schemes). 
> 
> 1\. The Blue Rose – focusing on Jaime/Lyanna and the building of a Lannister kingdom  
> 2\. The Lonely Dragons – mostly concerning the young Targaryens  
> 3\. Salt and Iron – the alternative Greyjoy Rebellion, with a quite different outcome  
> 4\. New Fires – the arrival of Melisandre in Westeros, naturally, also all different  
> 5\. A Winter Howl – the Others and all this good old North Beyond the Wall into the picture  
> 6\. The Sea is Wide – Rhaegar finally gathers an Essosi army and begins a war with Jaime, and yes, the Others are still there  
> 7\. Swords and Thorns – still more of the abovementioned mess
> 
> For Dany's supporters: she's born in part 2.   
> For Jon Snow's: SORRY, FOLKS, HE IS NONEXISTENT  
> For the younger Starks': wait until part 3 and beyond  
> And our dearly loved SanSan is going to first arise in part 4

The Lannister entourage was so splendid! Everything seemed to be adorned with gold or made of it, from the flags to the armor. They all hardly fit into the small castle, not only because there were so many of them, but because the castle's poverty was striking against all this gold.

Ynnete peeked a bit more out of her hiding place, concealed behind a gigantic stone column. No one would allow her to meet their guests, of course. She was only eight years old, hardly worth anything. Greg said so. She wasn't worth to meet the true nobles. Besides, they were going to a battle, not enjoying themselves. Her place was in her room, with the dolls Mother left her when she died.

But it was so hard to resist the temptation! Entranced, Ynnete couldn't turn her eyes away. She spotted a handsome young knight with shining golden hair and emerald eyes. He had a roaring lion on his blood-red shield... Why, this must be Ser Jaime Lannister himself!

"A pretty sight, sister, isn't it? Not like the ones you're used to." a voice spoke in her ear. The girl turned around and breathed out, relaxed:

"Hush! You don't want Greg to find out I'm here?"

"Back to your room, now," her other brother said in a hurried whisper. "The deer is overcooked, and Gregor's in his mood. You'd better hurry up and lock yourself in and pretend to sleep."

" _You're_ not hiding," she said reproachfully. Certainly, Gregor's fury would be unmatched, yet... mayhaps he would be quieted by all these gallant knights here? She wanted to look at the welcoming feast just for a little more, and then she'd be a good girl for the rest of her life...

Meanwhile, Sandor let out a short laugh. Not a real one, not like before – she still remembered it, when his face was good, his eyes sparkled, and his smile brightened the dark halls of their Keep. Now, her brother's laugh was bitter and evil.

"Gregor can't do anything worse to me than he's already done, aside from killing," he snarled. "But I'll kill him first."

"Please, don't speak like this – you're scaring _me_ ," she pleaded. He immediately stopped and looked at her gently:

"Don't worry, Ynnete. Go to your room. I'm going to squire for Kevan Lannister, and I'll ask him to take you out of this bloody place."

He pushed her towards the stairs. Ynnete tiptoed up without further words. Sandor didn't like it when she tried to thank him.

She did so quietly, in the safety of her room, looking at him from the window. Sandor was her only hope after Father was killed hunting and Gregor took his place. Sandor had long ago promised to squire for some fine lord, and beg him to take Ynnete as a ward. 

The girl half-closed her eyes, revelling in the dream that kept her alive. Ser Kevan will take her and Sandor far away from here, maybe even to Casterly Rock itself. Gregor will never touch them again, no one touches a Lannisters' ward. She will grow up as a true refined lady, and marry some handsome rich prince. Or knight. Ser Jaime, perhaps? He looked so positively breathtaking and courageous... Or Prince Rhaegar? They told her he was very handsome too and played the harp so well. Oh, no, he was already married... Ser Jaime, then. Ynnete smiled happily. And Sandor will be very happy as well, like he used to be before Greg burned his face. He will marry a beautiful lady, Ynnete will make sure of it. A pity there were no princesses, but a lady will do just as fine. Sandor said with that horrible laugh of his that no lady would marry anyone as ugly as him, but his sister knew better. She'll tell the prettiest lady available about Sandor's kindness, and the lady will surely marry him.

The Lannisters stayed in Clegane's Keep for another night, and in the morning it was time for them to leave.

Ynnete, unbeknownst to either of her brothers, crept into the yard to look at them for the last time. They were going to a real war, and not some war but a war called Rebellion. When Ynnete asked Sandor what it meant, he shrugged:

"It means one fool being thrown off a throne and another one taking it."

She didn't understand much, but she was sure that whatever it was, the Lannisters would win. Such a wonderful army! She was proud to be their bannerman's sister. 

She had another cause to be glad. Gregor was leaving with the army, which meant absolute freedom for her at last. Of course, he would unfailingly come back, but by then Sandor would already convince Ser Kevan to rescue them.

Ser Jaime was being helped into his armor. Ynnete stared at her knight, half-wishing he'd at least see her. She was only a child yet, but she would soon grow up and wait for him. Oh, what if it would be _him_ and not Ser Kevan to rescue her from this dreadful Keep? Her fantasy was carried away again. She imagined Ser Jaime coming on his beautiful horse to Clegane's Keep after the Rebellion, and crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty.

"Oh, good Ser, I am unworthy of such an honor. I am nothing but a sister of your bannerman," she would say with a bow. And he'd look at her with his amazing green eyes and say something like:

"Dearest Lady Clegane, you are more worthy than anyone."

He would kneel on one knee and asked her to be his lady and wife, and she would consent, and what darling golden-haired children they would have! And Greg will be roaring madly in a distance and yelling for her to come home and behave, but she would just laugh. No one could hurt the wife of Ser Jaime Lannister.

Suddenly, she shook off her dream as she suddenly realized he _was_ looking at her. In truth.

Remembering her courtesies, she walked out into the yard, bitterly noticing the dirt on her dress, and curtsied:

"My lord. I am sorry."

"You must be the mysterious little Lady Ynnete I've heard about but never seen," he smiled. "Are you always sneaking around in secret?"

"No, my lord. Forgive me, my lord," Ynnete felt her cheeks burn with shame and wondered if she'd have a terrible burn like Sandor.

"It's nothing. You know, you're just like my little brother Tyrion," he said in an amused tone and gave her hair a brief ruffle. "He knew every secret passage at the Rock when he was your age. Now he knows every corner in Lannisport, it seems. Oh, I envy you. Being little has lots of benefits."

 _He thinks me little!_ she thought, feeling tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, my lord, may I be excused?" she curtsied again and ran away, hoping to get to her room and cry everything out. Ser Jaime, the wonderful Ser Jaime, thought her little and compared her to his hideous dwarf brother!

She ran into something and froze as she saw Gregor towering over her, enraged as never before.

"What were you doing?" he hissed as he gripped her collar.

"W-walking, brother," she whimpered. All force and hope left her, as usual, at the sight of Gregor.

"Walking! I saw you, bitch! A whore at eight already?!" 

She shook her head vigorously. She didn't know what a whore was, but, since Greg called women so, it was something very, very bad.

"Your dress is torn!" he roared, shaking her. Ynnete felt her back colliding with the stone wall. She knew it was only torn now, when he gripped her, but she also knew better than to speak it out.

"You think Ser Jaime's going to give you any gold, don't you? Well, he won't. It's your duty to please your lord."

"I didn't..." she tried to protest. She realized it was useless as soon as the words spilled out. Gregor never listened to apologies or explanations.

"Let me tell you what everyone now thinks of you," his voice was reduced to a dangerous hiss again. "You are a damned," he slammed her body with all his strength against the wall, "bloody," again, "humiliation," again, "to our house," again and again.

By the third time, Ynnete stopped feeling the pain. Gregor threw her back on the stairs and rushed down to join the forces.

Barely noticing the blood around, she tried to get up. To the room – to the room. Wrap herself in the blankets and never get out. Greg will think her dead and will leave her alone.

The world was behaving strangely. It shook up and down like a see-saw. _Never mind_ , she told herself. _To the room, quick, before Greg returns_. The stairs jumped up and she was sent flying high in the air.

It was the best sensation she had ever felt in her short life. Everything spinning around her, the fluttering feeling of flying swiftly _downwards_ , freedom – and darkness, deep, thick darkness enveloping her. It was the best hiding place ever. Gregor will never find her in a darkness like this.


	2. Part I. The Blue Rose. 1. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before storming King's Landing, Jaime, Robert, and Eddard have a discussion with Jon Arryn, and Hoster Tully gets alarming news.

The war was by now all but won. The Mad King was still hiding in the Red Keep, but everyone except him could see now that the Lion's Rebellion had been successful. The armies had gathered by the walls of King's Landing for a final strike.

"A raven from the Freys," Jon Arryn said, walking into the commanders' tent. "Lord Walder declared for us."

"He didn't move a finger during the battles in the Riverlands that cost us many men, and now he all of a sudden began to think," Lord Tully snickered. "The Late Lord Frey it is."

"Hopefully will be the late one soon," Arryn agreed. "He disgusts me."

Jaime yawned as he stretched his legs and looked at the sword. Soon, it will pay the debt he owed to Aerys. Pity Aerys's father was already long dead... A Lannister always pays his debts

There was never much love between himself and his father. The only person who had loved Tywin was their mother Joanna, and she died giving birth to Tyrion. But as the old madman whom someone had been foolish enough to name _King_ ordered Tywin's execution for nothing but paranoid delusions of hidden conspiracies, it stopped being personal. It was a horrible insult, an unforgivable disgrace to House Lannister. Even Cersei admitted as much.

"Kill him!" she screamed as news of the beheading reached Casterly Rock. "Kill him! Tear his throat apart! Pin him to the Iron Throne!"

The great and small lords of the Seven Kingdoms were shocked as much. It was no secret that Aerys and his former Hand had been estranged for long, their enmity was obvious at court, but when it came to an execution of the richest and most influential lord of Westeros, Jaime knew it was time to act. Fast. 

It took him next to no time to gather his own bannermen. Everyone understood now: if the King could murder Lord Tywin Lannister, who was then safe from his wild wrath? Lord Arryn, much as he disliked the Lannisters, joined the Rebellion less than a month later, along with his ever-present wards and supporters Robert Baratheon and the Stark brothers. Hoster Tully did as well. The only major region that declared for the King (or better to say, the Prince, Rhaegar) was Dorne, on behalf of Princess Elia Martell. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, and so on and on, the Martells seemed to be constantly opposing everyone else. No matter. Their forces were soon outnumbered. Oberyn Martell, the Princess's brother, was slain when leading a totally hopeless campaign against Jaime's army, and his more cautious father raised a peace banner.

Jaime thought of Cersei, waiting for him at the Rock, of her golden dress that almost showed her breasts. He called her his reflection when she wore it, because the dress was just the color of his armor.

"Lord Lannister!" Arryn called him.

"Yes?" he turned around.

"It's past time we discussed what to do after," the Vale lord said.

"What to do after?" Jaime repeated, puzzled. "Celebrate. Drink some good Arbor gold. Let you take the throne, for instance."

"Me?" Jon smiled. "You flatter me, my lord. I am ageing already and without an heir left."

"Marry someone, then. The realm is full of young ladies. Why, you may take the Martell girl after we finish with her dragon husband."

Jon shook his head:

"A Martell girl whom we'll have widowed? I'd rather just get killed during the storming, it would be faster. Anyway, I won't take the throne. I am not young and I have never in my life been prepared for kingly duties. The Vale's quite enough for me. Robert," he turned to the Baratheon youth, burly-haired and gleeful, "you could be a better candidate. You are reasonably young and strong enough, and your grandfather had a Targaryen wife."

"Crowning me now?" Robert snorted. "I did think of the throne for a while, but not much. I'm not smart enough for that sort of thing."

That was Robert's nature, Jaime mused. Changing swifter than the wind. Few things in the world Robert was loyal to: wine, whoring and his closest friends. Just a few weeks ago he said he would be king. Out loud. He was drunk then, but yet he said it. A moon's turn ago he was madly in love with Lyanna Stark, Ned's sister, but soon coldened towards her. 

"Ned could do it much better," Robert pushed his friend, laughing. "The honorable honorable honored Eddard Stark the Honest One, First of his Name."

The Northerner responded with a small faint smile. He was always the gloomy one, and his brother Brandon's recent death in battle darkened his mood even more.

"You know you're wrong," he said. "I am not used to all these southron ways. I can't live in King's Landing. Whom shall I leave in the North?"

"Why, Lyanna, of course."

"She will marry you or someone else in due course. Can I leave Winterfell without a Stark?"

"Oh, Ned! You _are_ too strict for us poor Southerners!" Robert laughed more and took a sip from his wineskin.

Arryn sighed, then turned to Jaime:

"Ned and Robert are both right. They are good warriors and good enough lords, but I can't see either on the throne. Also, it was you who started the Rebellion."

"Hinting on me now, aren't you?" Jaime stared at him. "Lord Arryn, you must know that of the four highly unsuitable would-be kings in this tent, I am the least suitable of all. The realm hated and feared Tywin Lannister, now his son goes and takes the throne. What will everyone say? Oh, so clear, the father failed, the son completes the plan."

"My lord, the tide has turned. The realm has forgotten about Tywin Lannister. All they think of is a madman on the throne, a beast."

"Ah, and I'm supposed to slay it and get a whole kingdom as a reward?" he asked. "I'd rather be satisfied with a fair lady." _A certain fair lady I do have in mind... Though after this thrice-damned Aerys and all other Targaryens with their sister-wives, no one would allow it. All the more reason for me to not sit on that rusty thing in the Red Keep._

"It's no jest. The whole Seven Kingdoms are at stake."

"What about Hoster Tully – where did he go, by the by?" he suggested then. "He has an heir – two heirs, counting his brother."

"I've thought about it. The Tullys are too dependable on their alliances. Since the Riverlands are open to any enemy who wants to give it a try, the lords are eager to marry anyone who might be of help in the case."

"Right now, no one of the Tullys is married, if that's what worries you."

"Catelyn is all but wedded to Ned," he gestured towards Stark, who didn't look very delighted at the prospect. "Hoster wants to marry Lysa to me, I'm still considering it."

"Well, so what?" the old man's ramblings were driving Jaime crazy. Courtly matters didn't bother him in any way. _Give me Cersei and some good tournaments and battles, Lord Arryn, and I'll obey any of these lads you would put on the throne._

"Edmure Tully is but a child, and the Blackfish is a fighter but no ruler." _Just like me, can't you bloody see it?!_ "Should Hoster take the crown, the realm's future will be in the hands of whoever marries his daughters."

"What, therefore, do you propose?" Jaime didn't hide his annoyance anymore. "Can you paint a brighter future for a kingdom of Jaime the First of his Name?"

"You'll take the throne. The realm will see you as a rescuer. That, and your looks and fighting will win you the smallfolk's love. I will serve as Hand." _How pretty unpredictable, Lord Arryn_. "Now... To cement our union with the North, you shall take Lady Lyanna as your queen."

"What?" Jaime cried, unsure if he had heard him correctly.

"Jon!" Eddard exclaimed at the same moment.

Lord Arryn looked at them patiently. It was obvious he had thought all this out long before starting the argument.

"She is a lady of marriageable age and free to marry."

"I had enough sense to withdraw my claim for her hand," Robert mumbled in reply to this. "A damned she-wolf, Lyanna is."

"Lord Arryn, then marry her yourself and take the throne, as I've already suggested!" Jaime said, bursting with rage. "Or do you forever prefer to stay in the shadow?"

"If you put it in the blunt way, yes. As I've been saying, Lyanna Stark will be a perfect match. It will secure the Crown's connection with the North."

Jaime gave Eddard a sour look. Eddard looked back. It was plain he wasn't rejoicing in the prospect of having Jaime as a good-brother. The two men had never gotten on well together.

But the quiet young lord was the least of Jaime's worries. The mere thought of Cersei ripped him apart. Whatever his own many faults, he was ever faithful to her. He swore it to her countless times. How would she react if he became King and married that Northern woman? She'd be brokenhearted, as would he. Why hadn't he joined the Kingsguard earlier? If he had, no one would bother him with marriage arrangements. _Cersei, oh, Cersei, I've let you down._  

Then a spark of hope found its way into his heart. If what Robert said about Lyanna's wild nature is true, then the lady will be no more satisfied with the wedlock as himself. Perhaps they could form an agreement. He will only take her to beget heirs and then return to Cersei. _My golden-haired darling sister,_ he thought fondly. _I will do anything for us. If Lyanna ever objects, I'll kill her with my bare hands, I swear._

"What else?" he asked Arryn, more calmly now. The lord prattled on and on about alliances here and laws there and boons somewhere else. Jaime pretended to listen. Why should he pay attention? Arryn was going to be Hand anyway. Let him have his little game. Of course, the Vale lord, elderly as he was, would die someday, mayhaps soon. No matter! There will be a crowd of other people to choose from. The realm will have their gallant King Jaime, and Jaime will have a skilled Hand to reign in truth.

King Jaime. Well, it wasn't as bad as it sounded. If he could only resolve the matter with Cersei...

Suddenly, Hoster Tully burst into the tent, white as paper and shaking.

"What is it, Hoster?" Arryn was immediately alert for any kind of danger.

"Forgive me..." Tully groaned, looking years older than he was. "There was a raven... from my daughter..."

"Lady Catelyn?" Ned asked dutifully.

"No, no, thankfully, no! Cat is fine. It's Lysa... Lysa... she had... that scoundrel... Oh, Jon, I need to talk to you."

Jaime and his companions took the hint and exited the tent.

"I wonder what have happened," Robert said. "Old Fishlord looks as a trout taken out of the water."

"I hope it won't upset Lady Catelyn very much, the sisters are very devoted to each other," Ned added.

"Oh, indeed, Ned! Your future wedding already has a brooding groom, at least the bride has to look happy!"

They waited until the elder men came outside too. Lord Tully was a little more composed now, Lord Arryn gave him compassionate looks, but his face showed he was calculating new possibilities.

"It appears that Lady Lysa can't marry any longer," he said shortly. 

Lord Tully turned away and walked to his own tent without a word. Jon Arryn became more eloquent:

"Apparently she has ruined herself with their Baelish ward, and he got her with child."

Jaime whistled. That was interesting. Family, Duty, Honor indeed.

"Petyr Baelish used to declare his passion for my intended, too," Ned frowned. "He challenged Bran to a duel for her. I've never liked him."

"Don't worry, Hoster will deal with him now," Jon said. "Pray excuse me, boys. I have matters to attend to. Lord Lannister, we'll talk about your claim later."

When he left as well, Robert commented:

"Searching for another bride now, I'd bet. The Hand of the King and Warden of the East can't be childless."

"It would be very profitable for him to have family ties with the King himself," Ned nodded.

"Shut up, Stark," Jaime scowled.

"Lord Lannister, it's no use denying it now. Jon has put it into head to put the crown on yours."

 _Damn the crown. Damn them. Damn that young fool Lysa. Damn Jon Arryn._ Jaime imagined the old man's yellowish hands on his wondrous Cersei, and the sight made him physically sick. _Damn King Aerys. I can't execute_ my _Hand now. Not for another thirty years at least, as long as the people remember. Damn and blast the Seven Kingdoms._

Such were his thoughts on his first evening as a claimant to the Iron Throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Jaime's Rebellion is a little earlier on the timeline than Robert's in canon, so it coincides with Lysa's pregnancy.


	3. Catelyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn struggles with the fact of having a dishonored sister.

It was just the day before the Storming of King's Landing. Catelyn sat on the windowsill, waiting for the raven to come back and brooding. 

Everything had happened so suddenly that she couldn't still believe it. The day before, in the evening, Lysa burst into their room, laughing and radiant, the dimples on her cheeks deeper than ever.

"Oh, Cat, Cat!" she sang, grasping her sister's hands and spinning her around the room. "Cat, dear, you shall never believe it!"

"What? Have you got a raven?" Catelyn asked, hardly daring to hope. "Is King's Landing already taken?"

"A raven! King's Landing!" Lysa grimaced. "Phew! Who cares about these things when the ultimate joy is here? Oh, sweetest sister, do guess what it is!"

"I give up," she sat back into her chair. "I'm tired from the hours spent in the rookery."

Lysa kissed her on the cheek:

"My poor dutiful dearest! I'll tell you. I've just seen the maester, and he's confirmed it – I'm having Petyr's child!"

Catelyn froze. Her first thought was that she didn't get it right. A child? Petyr Baelish's child?

"Lysa? You are what?.."

"Carrying Petyr's baby!" her younger sister clapped her hands furiously, dancing around. "Now Father will let me marry Petyr, and not some ugly old lord!"

She was giggling, breathless, when Cat stood up and gave her a firm slap in the face. Lysa blanched, her hands flying up protectively, her expression changing from glee to anger:

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "Oh, I see! You are jealous, sister!"

"Lysa, you're forgetting yourself!"

"Oh, no. I know everything. You ensnared Petyr, and then let that awful Brandon Stark nearly kill him. But it was  _me_ , Cat, me, not you, who nursed him back to health. He loves  _me_ now. We will marry and be happier than kings, and  _you_ can stick with your boring Lord Eddard!"

"Lysa!" Catelyn yelled, vainly hoping to make her sister see sense. "You cannot be serious. You were promised to Jon Arryn, my dear, and he will be very outraged now, because he can't marry a disgraced woman. You have brought shame on the whole house. Do  _Family, Duty, Honor_ mean nothing to you?!"

As frustrated as Lysa was, she didn't like to have the most sacred things questioned.

"Of course they do! Don't be silly! This is why I did it!"

"You acted like a fool, Lysa Tully. Because of your disgrace, our family will lose its prestige. Lord Eddard might end his betrothal with me. Why, Edmure will have trouble searching for a bride. Who will help us protect the Riverlands when Father's gone?"

"Petyr..." Lysa wailed.

"Petyr is Father's ward, he's _not_ to marry you whatever the case. House Arryn would have been a greatly valuable ally. Haven't you given it a single thought? Jon Arryn is a kind, honorable man, as you well know, he would have treated you well. Now he will turn away from us, and rightly so! Can't you see, Lysa?" tears came to Cat's eyes. "Because of you and Petyr, we may lose this war."

"We won't!" she protested weakly. "We're winning!"

"The Lannisters are winning," Cat corrected her. "Our fate is undecided. If House Arryn and House Stark turn away from us, we shall be enemies to the Wardens of the East and the North, and it's no jest. We'll end up alone and helpless."

"Petyr loves me! I love him!" Lysa whimpered. "We'll survive anything together! And the child we have! I've already announced…"

"You _announced_ it?"

"I did! I thought you'd be happy for me – Cat, Cathy, please, don't look at me like this – you're frightening me…"

Cat groaned and put her hand on her forehead. Before Lysa mentioned the announcement, she had hoped the matter could be yet hushed up. Several cups of moon tea, and everything would be soon over. But now it couldn't be mended. Lady Lysa Tully was shamed, and in a short while it will be common knowledge in every Kingdom.

After a quick counsel with Septa Cylene Cat decided to let the baby live, but take it from her sister. Lysa's only path was into the septry. No one would want her now. No one would bend the knee to her.

"I shall take care of the child," Cat sighed. "I will make sure it receives a good upbringing."

"What about young Lord Baelish?" the septa asked.

"I've had him detained until Father's return. He behaves abominably, though. Had the insolence to swear he only loves _me_!"

"It's a providential happening, my dear. You are the eldest, you hold more importance. Think of it: he could have had his way with you!"

Catelyn shuddered at the thought. Her sister and Petyr's treasonous act hurt her terribly. Whom could she count on, from now on? There were no more people of her own age as close to her as Lysa and Petyr used to be. Father and Uncle wouldn't be forever by her side, and Edmure was only a boy.

There was her betrothed, of course. Currently her betrothed. Cat looked into the cloudy sky and reminded herself that the very first raven could bring news of Eddard Stark refusing her.

_Worst of all, he'll be right to do so. He remembers that Petyr claimed to love me. He'll think: what if his intended was used as well?_

Lord Eddard was a quiet, thoughtful man. One could hardly guess what plagued his mind.

Soon Cat was so desperate that she began to imagine both herself and Lysa living as silent sisters, and inexperienced young Edmure being overthrown after Father and Uncle's death, and the Riverlands being torn apart by rebellious minor lords, and finally added to the enormous Lannister lands…

"Cat," something croaked. Snapping out of her delirium, she saw a raven coming down to her.

"Cat!" it called. "Cat, Cat!"

She thought the letter to be from Father, but, surprisingly, it turned out to be from Lord Stark. Unwrapping it, she prepared for the worst.

_Dear Lady Tully,_

_I offer you my deepest sympathies with regard to your distressing situation. Your lord father assured me he will resolve it as soon as possible; however, if I may be so frank, I don't want my betrothed to stay under the same roof as the false man who brought such disgrace on her nearest and dearest. Since the northern lands are now free of fighting, I would suggest you leave for Winterfell already. I have sent word to my sister, Lady Lyanna, and she will be ready to welcome you._

_I assure you of my utmost devotion, my lady,_

_Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,_

_Warden of the North._

It wasn't very much like the love letters that lords sent to their ladies in songs and legends, but Cat doubted the beautiful heroines' hearts had ever beat as fast as hers. Her own honor at least was safe. Her betrothal was by no means at an end. _She_ wouldn't shame her house!

On a sudden impulse, Cat kissed the letter, thinking of Lord Eddard's straight line of a mouth. It didn't seem so very unpleasant.

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered.


	4. Rhaegar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar shares tender moments with his wife and daughter, singing for them of Aemon the Dragonknight, and then begins to plot their escape from King's Landing and is forced to accept a heartbreaking price for it.

The red-and-gold flag was flapping in the sky beyond the city walls, proud and free, while the red-and-black one was lying somewhere in the heartwood, a formless bundle. No one cared to pick it up.

"We are lost," Elia said between humming soothing lullabies to little Rhaenys. "Your father is a fool not to see it."

When a Martell admitted defeat, Rhaegar knew, there was no chance left. He looked fondly at Elia, knowing that behind her stolid mask she was in fact broken and desperate. Dear passionate Elia! It was her who summoned the Dornish forces once more after her brother had been slaughtered. It was her who provided aid for smallfolk in the besieged capital. Paled because of the winter and the time spent indoors, thinned after the foot shortage, but still Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. It was her spirit from the start that captured Rhaegar's heart, the fierce Southern spirit, burning like the Dornish sun.

 _You were drawn to a fierce Northern spirit as well recently_ , the prince chided himself. Aye, it was true. Upon his last visit to Winterfell, he was absolutely dazzled by Lady Lyanna. She wasn't beautiful in the classic sense of the word, no violet eyes and silver hair of Valyrian stock, no olive skin and enticing dark eyes like Elia, no sky-blue eyes and flowing red hair of the riverland ladies. But somehow Lyanna was so charming that she made them all look like shadows in comparison. Her vivacity, her defiance, her dimpled smile... Rhaegar felt bewitched.

The spell was broken by the news of Lord Tywin being thrown into the black cells. Leaving Winterfell, the prince hastened home to try and talk some sense into his father.

Too late. Tywin's head was chopped off, and all madness broke loose.

Elia has been one of the few sane people left in King's Landing. Now it broke his heart to think he could ever betray her.

Her eyes looked up at him:

"Rhaegar?"

_Did she know back then, in Winterfell? Was it so obvious?_

"We're lost," he agreed, looking at the red and gold of their foes. "My father's doomed. He was doomed from the start."

"We must escape," she whispered. "Oh, Rhaegar! We must find a way to leave! Me, you, Rhaenys, little Viserys, and the poor Queen."

"Where is the way?" Rhaegar paced the room nervously. "We can't disguise ourselves – damn it all, you and I have the most noticeable looks south of the Wall. I discussed it with Darry. He promised to take care, but I can't imagine how."

"You'd rather stay here and fight," Elia said softly. "Brave, perhaps. But not reasonable. Think of me and Rhaenys, and of my unborn little one. Think of Viserys – he is but a small boy, and should anything happen to you, he's the heir."

"I know," he groaned and pulled the curtain over the window. Craven as it was. He coudln't bear to see the mass of red and gold.

Rhaenys's eyes snapped open, and the girl let out a wail.

"Mama," she tugged at Elia's sleeve insistently.

"What is it? I fed you only minutes ago, sweetie!"

"No! Sing! You not sing," Rhaenys insisted. Her mother let out an exhausted sigh:

"Oh, Rhaegar, would you mind taking care of it for a while? My nerves are like a bowstring, and the poor thing feels it. I must have a rest. You are stronger."

Rhaegar smiled sadly. _As if, my love. I wish I were._

Nevertheless, he held his child as she climbed happily onto his knee. 

"Sing, Papa!" Rhaenys demanded, laughing as she pulled strands of his silvery hair.

His soul ached as he began to gently sing, sing in the midst of war, bloodshed, and siege.

_How comes it now, o my just lord,_

_That in the deepest night_

_The castle is awake and bright?_

_Oh tell me, my just lord._

_The gravest news, the gravest news,_

_O youth, there just have been,_

_The fairest and the gentlest Queen_

_Brought to her knees, accused._

_How comes it now, o my just lord,_

_The Queen so kind and fair_

_Is found fault with anywhere?_

_Oh tell me, my just lord._

_Ser Morgil, false and faithless one,_

_Unworthy of his cloak,_

_Has spread, has spread the evil talk,_

_About a treason done._

_How comes it now, o my just lord,_

_That King himself believes_

_A slander of such lowly thieves?_

_Oh tell me, my just lord._

"The Unworthy paid Morgil himself to spread the rumors," Elia chuckled bitterly, interrupting his singing. "Of course, even the singers wouldn't mention it. His bad blood has found itself back in your father's veins."

Her sharp voice disturbed the toddler's slumber again, and Rhaenys, yawning, asked Papa to sing more. Rhaegar caressed her locks as he thought of his upcoming meeting with Darry, when they were going to finalize their plans. He barely stopped his voice from faltering as he continued.

_Ser Morgil prattled day and night_

_To blacken the Queen's name._

_He poisoned with his wicked game_

_The King's both ear and sight._

_How comes it now, o my just lord,_

_That no one could acquit_

_A Queen so kindly and so sweet?_

_Oh tell me, my just lord._

_Ser Morgil, traitor as he is,_

_Is skilled with sword and lance,_

_And he will stand for his offence,_

_Unmoved by any pleas._

_To face him on a battleground_

_No one can dare to try,_

_The Queen will face the charge and die,_

_If no champion's found._

_Behold, o good and noble lord!_

_I am no peasant youth,_

_Prince Aemon's standing here in truth,_

_O just and faultless lord._

_I have returned from Dornish plains,_

_You hear my honor's word:_

_Before this noon shall be restored_

_My sister's name again._

Someone knocked on the door. Rhaegar lowered his daughter, asleep again, into the cradle and rushed to answer.

It was Willem Darry.

"My prince," he said quietly. "My men are ready. This evening."

Rhaegar stepped aside, letting the master-at-arms into the room.

"My princess," he bowed to Elia. "I have prepared everything. You shall be brought to Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" Rhaegar frowned. "It's not safe, Ser Willem. Stannis Baratheon, as far as I know, is going to strike there."

"Not until King's Landing is won for sure," Darry explained. "It is only for a short time. From Dragonstone you'll board a ship to Braavos. I have arranged it all."

"Thank you, Ser."

He wished he could express more of his gratitude for House Darry's unending, unyielding loyalty, but now he could do nothing. He was dependent on them, not the other way round. _When I find my strength and bring the Seven Kingdoms back, I will fill Castle Darry with gold and jewels. I will grant any wish Ser Willem has, even if it is Rhaenys's hand in marriage._

"I have prepared a cart," Ser Willem continued, unaware of the rewards awaiting him in the distant future. "Disguised – forgive me, my prince – as a cart from the Street of Silk. I'll play the rich client, getting away with a nice purchase. We'll escape through one of the smaller gates."

"No need to spare our ears," Elia said gravely, but lowered her head in shame. "Should anyone try to inspect the cart... we have to be ready. The child can be hidden... Rhaegar can disguise himself, put on some hooded cloak and pretend to be your friend. I will... I will be..." she swallowed, obviously unable to speak further, her Martell pride still high.

"She's right," Rhaegar nodded. "Get me something to darken my hair."

"My prince," with a swift bow Ser Willem disappeared. Rhaegar exhaled:

"Damn it. The Lannisters will pay for this shame someday."

His wife was trembling, hardly holding herself together.

"There's still some matters to be settled with the Queen and Viserys. We must hide them as well," she said through gritted teeth, not raising her eyes. He thought on it:

"Well, Mother is slim and small, there'll be no trouble with concealing her. As well as the children. The only problem is to make sure Viserys and Rhaenys keep quiet."

"Sweetsleep?" Elia suggested.

"Are you sure? It can be lethal. With the stress, the children might..."

"Never worry."

This was one of the times when Rhaegar became momentarily afraid of his wife. She gave him a sly self-assured smile that reminded him of her late brother the Red Viper.

"We Martells are knowledgeable about poisons," she said. "Trust me. I know what dose is needed for sleep and when it becomes deadly. I wouldn't have said it if I weren't sure. Do you forget that the lives of my daughter and good-brother are at stake?" she stroked the sleeping girl's ebony hair.

Soon Ser Willem returned with dark dye and everything else necessary, and in an hour, with Elia's skilful hands, Rhaegar was undistinguishable from an obscure Essosi tradesman. Elia called Mother and Viserys to the room, and they couldn't recognize him.

Viserys was thrilled at the prospect of getting so much changed in appearance and eluding the enemy under his very nose, but a sudden resistance was on Mother's part.

"Leave my husband?" she cried when told of the plan. "In a whore's cart! Never! I'm the blood of the dragon! I have my honor yet!"

"Father is beyond help," Rhaegar said relentlessly. "It is my fault, I admit, I didn't stop him earlier. But we can have our revenge on the Lannisters, Mother! We won't achieve anything by being slain here like pigs! We'll leave for Braavos and gather an army..."

"As if you will! Who will come under the banners of a landless king?"

"You've just said it yourself, mother. We are the blood..."

"...of the dragon!" Viserys joined in, his hair already blackened, Elia in the process of darkening his face and hands.

For a moment, Mother seemed to hesitate. Whatever affection she might have harbored for Father long ago, it was gone. Only her duty seemed to hold her in the Red Keep.

"I... I can't go!" she breathed, after giving it a consideration. "Rhaegar, my son... I am with child once more. I won't survive the journey."

"With child?" Rhaegar exclaimed. For a moment, he forgot himself. _A new little brother or sister..._  

The red-and-gold glimmer through the curtain brought him to reality. Why did he have to be such a dreamer? A new child wasn't any joy in these times. On the contrary, it was a curse.

"I can't leave you here, especially in this case," he clenched his fists.

"You must!" all of a sudden, Mother's feebleness was gone, and she was again Queen Rhaella, the blood of the dragon. "It breaks my heart, but you must go. Don't _think_ of me! You are the heir, Viserys next – the future of the dragons lies with you, not with me. I'll only slow you down if I go. And you cannot stay. If you stay, we all are as good as dead."

"The child," he whispered, in his mind cursing his soft nature.

" _The children_ , Rhaegar. I don't want to die, I'm afraid to die, and I would have sooner died a thousand times than allow my baby to be killed in the womb. But it is unavoidable. I must stay, so that you would live. Viserys, Rhaenys, Elia's unborn one – don't you think of them?"

"My lady, we'll take you," Elia interrupted. "You'll hide yourself in the cart..."

"No!" Mother snapped. "No! No! It's enough that Ser Willem and Rhaegar have one pregnant woman and two kids to care for, they don't need another one!"

Silence fell. He understood that these were her final words.

Suddenly breaking into a tearful fit, Mother threw her arms around him, and Rhaegar held her tight, grimacing so hard it hurt – so that no one would notice his own tears. _Weakling. Your wife is stronger than yourself. You couldn't even save your own mother. Do you feel glad, escaping and leaving her to certain death?_  

Freeing herself, Mother took one last look at him, kissed Elia and Rhaenys on the cheeks, embraced Viserys for a moment that seemed both brief and endless, and left the room, frail and broken, but still dignified.


	5. Lyanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna gets the news of her betrothal to Jaime and receives Catelyn at Winterfell.

The raven from Jon Arryn came at midday. It was an enormous bluish black thing that almost fell from the sky upon Wintry's head, croaking "Stark! Stark! Stark!" This particular raven was often used for communicating with Winterfell, Lyanna knew, so perhaps it was the bird's idea of greeting an old friend.

Wintry, her new beautiful white mare, young, wild-tempered and unused to riders, didn't appreciate the raven's courtesy. She let out a frightened neigh and tried to kick the bird which was circling them. All this ended up with Lyanna being thrown off flat into the dirt.

"An omen for the letter's contents," she thought bitterly an hour or so later, taking a good hot bath. "I hope at least everyone's alive."

Everyone was alive, as it turned out, but Lyanna's foreboding was for a reason. Jon Arryn told her of his plans for the future, which included: Jaime Lannister as the King, himself as the Hand, and her, Lyanna, as Jaime's wife.

 _Your betrothal to Robert is at end, and you haven't any other suitors now_ , he wrote. _Besides, a Lannister King is the best a lady can hope for. Especially a young and handsome one like Ser Jaime_.

Knowing old Jon, Lyanna felt like he was more trying to convince himself than her. He harbored no great love for the Lannisters, but it had to be changed now, when all the kingdom regarded Jaime as their courageous savior. But why couldn't he sit on the throne without a Queen or choose some pretty courtier who'd look at him adoringly and want for nothing with his gold?

_Dear Lyanna, the Starks are one of the oldest houses in the Seven Kingdoms. It is necessary that the Lannisters would unite with their equals to create a new dynasty for new Westeros, free of the dragons. I know you don't like Jaime, but the realm doesn't need any more wars and conflicts, at least for another ten or twenty years! I already have many plans for the North, and you will have the power to bring them to life as Queen._

The lady scowled. She wouldn't mind to be Queen, for sure. And she would be very glad to make the life in her dear homeland better. But marriage to Jaime Lannister, of all people! Lyanna thought she had a narrow escape from being tied to a man when Robert Baratheon ended their engagement. As much as she liked him to be Eddard's friend – Eddard needed someone lively and full of laughter to cheer him up – she had never ever wanted him herself. Yet the Baratheons at least were friends of the Starks. Up to recent events, the Lannisters had been no friends. Until the Rebellion...

"The South will be happy with a king like him," she thought. "He's the very essence of what they adore so much. But not the North. We don't need a gallant fool with golden hair who fights elegantly in the tourneys. He will understand nothing. No Northern will want to bend the knee to him."

 _But they'll be willing to bend the knee to me_ , she realized with a start. That's why Jon Arryn chose her in the first place. So that she would be the representative of the North at court.

Putting a fresh set of clothes on – a suit for riding as before – she thought of her future spouse again and felt sour. Jaime Lannister was mayhaps considered handsome in King's Landing, but not to her taste. His hair was too golden, his eyes too bright, his ways too gracious – overall creating something more like a picture from a book, not a real person. While his sister and his father before him never made pretence and showed their true Lannister nature, cold, stern, cunning, wherever they were, Jaime chose to hide behind a mask of sweetness.  _Too much sweetness,_ Lyanna cringed with distaste. _Like a lot of sugary icing._ And such a man was going to take the throne constructed by Aegon the Conqueror!

"Let me congratulate you on your new betrothal, my lady," Meg, her handmaiden, said respectfully. So the news had already spread from the rookery. "Or shall I say Your Grace?"

"Not until I have the Lannister cloak safely fastened on my shoulders," Lyanna assured her. "I might still kill Ser Jaime before the nuptials."

"But my lady!"

"No, Meg, don't worry. I won't kill him... if he doesn't provoke me first. Still, you may be certain, I will make for him such a life that he will soon be begging for a quick death!" she laughed. If she had to marry a Lannister, she would make the most of it.  _He might expect me to sigh and sing praises whenever he comes near, like all the girls swooning over him always do. He's in for the biggest surprise of his life._

Despite all her bravado, Lyanna's mood went swiftly down with every moment. If any of her brothers had been here, she would have made a scandal. Not like tender hysterical dames from the South, oh no, not like the ones who screamed and cried but never did anything. She would have made Ned and Ben regret it. Or even better, if Jon Arryn had come himself... But there were only servants around. Worse, Lady Catelyn, Ned's bride, was coming soon. Ned strictly ordered Lyanna to behave in a proper way... at least until the wedding day. 

" _Whose_ wedding day, I wonder?" she frowned.

The sight of hers came up in her mind. A sept in King's Landing, Jaime Lannister swearing his (false to the bone) vows, winking and smiling at everyone of importance, taking off her maiden cloak, putting on the red Lannister one...  _He will think I'm turned into a lion! Never! The Wall will fall before I become one of them!_  

Then dread seized her soul:  _He'll try to seduce me._ Lyanna flushed red with embarrassment and fury. The thought of giving her body to any man, and Ser Jaime of all, was intimidating. She imagined fighting, besting him... But he would be King, she reminded herself. If he would be dissatisfied with his wife, it would affect the North.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn them all!

Forgetting that she had just bathed, Lyanna flew into the stables and jumped on Wintry's back. 

"Go, girl!" she tugged at the reins hard and the horse whined in pain. "Quick!"

"M'lady!" Lyanna heard Meg's cry as she rode out of the castle. "You'll get a cold!"

No matter. Better get a cold and die here, in the beloved snowy fields, with the winter always coming and the black shadow of the Wall on the horizon, better that than being turned into a wooden cyvasse pawn in the endless games played in King's Landing. Live cyvasse.

Wintry galloped forward as if chased by the Others. Lyanna hugged her horse tightly, feeling the wind pulling at her hair almost painfully, a snowstorm swirling under the mare's hooves.

"Winter is coming!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, icy air hitting her throat.

She returned when it was near midnight, to find another raven waiting for her. A pleasant courteous letter, completely devoid of feelings, written by an elegant hand from the Riverlands. Catelyn's letter. She was at the Freys' Crossing now, planning to arrive in about a week – sending love and best regards to her dearest future sister – expressing joy at the scheduled wedding – on, on, and on. 

_It is her that should be marrying Ser Jaime. She is so well-trained that she'd have expressed joy even to marry the Mad King._

Lyanna had never been closely acquainted with the elder Lady Tully (or the younger one, for that matter) personally, having only seen the family from a distance at court. Bran planned to bring his bride to Winterfell when the Rebellion disrupted his plans, and then after he was slain, Catelyn being passed to Eddard. As Lyanna reread the letter, she had her suspicions confirmed: a stupid Southerner, reciting a letter from her courtesy lessons, nothing to suit Ned.  _And the Lady Lysa got herself ruined with the ward of Lord Hoster's. Is Catelyn any better? A good thing it would be if she turned up with a big belly as well. Hopefully at least she's smarter than her sister. Oh, Ned won't like her. Bran would have been better... Bran..._ _  
_

A knot formed in her throat as she remembered Bran, her favorite brother. The only one who fully understood her. Passionate, hot-blooded, unpredictable... Always quick to rush into battle. One of the first to fall.

Bran hadn't loved Catelyn any more than Ned did, but he mayhaps could have entertained her. With Ned, whom everyone in the South apart from his closest friends considered cold and distant, someone like Lady Tully would die of boredom.

_The Lion's Rebellion is basically won, but what reason do I have to rejoice? Father and Bran dead, myself promised to Jaime Lannister, and Ned stuck with a wife like Catelyn._

The Lion's Rebellion was won in due course, in two days. Yet another raven came – the rookery had rarely been so busy. Jaime Lannister proclaimed himself King, and all the lords were to duly bend the knee.  _To a Lannister. To a Lannister._ Lyanna felt like a traitor.

The only good thing was that Jaime, the single one of many, didn't pretend to be happy with their match. His letter to her hardly differed from his letter to Ned, with a brisk postscript concerning the wedding plans. The wedding was to take place three moon's turns after Ned's. Very well. Lyanna had worried he'd order her to arrive in the capital as soon as possible.

She wrote a no less polite reply, assuring Jaime Lannister of House Stark's support, since Ned and Ben were still on their way back. Or perhaps didn't even leave King's Landing yet.

After her wild riding escapade, Lyanna did get a cold. Her throat was sore, and her head ached – as if it didn't already, after everything that had happened. She spent several days confined to bed, and, naturally, as it always happens in the world, Catelyn Tully's arrival was announced on the worst day of all.

Lyanna was lying among the pillows, drinking hot mixtures and honey, when Meg timidly opened the door:

"Lady Tully is here, m'lady."

"Well, make a welcome for her!" she sneezed and became even angrier. "I'm in no fit condition to receive anyone myself! Tell her I beg to be excused."

"W-we've already said you'll see her for a moment," Meg lowered her eyes.

Oh, these servants. What was everyone thinking?

"Fine, fine. Show her in, if she's so insistent."

Lady Catelyn was ushered into the room. Lyanna barely managed to utter the necessary greeting and, frowning, took a good look at Ned's bride.

She had red hair, as practically all Riverland overlords. Hers was of a darker auburn shade, and Lyanna appreciated it. Hoster Tully looked like a perfect carrot, so red his hair was, but it would have looked strange in the less colorful North.

The hair framed a soft round face, with serious eyes and an uncertain smile, trembling on the lips. Lyanna guessed _she_ was a fright: reddened because of the fever, her hair, never in place even in their best times, absolutely disheveled, nose swollen from sneezing.

"Be welcome here, dear Lady Tully," she said, trying her best not to speak through the nose. "I am sorry I'm in such a state."

"Oh, it's fine, Lady Stark," the girl replied, looking around nervously. "It's very cold here."

"Not inside Winterfell. It's standing on hot springs."

Catelyn Tully shivered. Lyanna noticed she still had a coat on. 

"I hope you won't feel lonely, with me sick and Ned still on his way. Maester Luwin can show you around. He also keeps some good books."

"Th-thank you, Lady Stark."

"Lyanna," she corrected, feeling a stroke of pity towards the Southerner.

"L-Lyanna. Thank you," Catelyn hesitated. "Could you tell me more about Lord Eddard? I feel so odd. I… well, I hardly know him."

No doubt she was scared by the rumors circulating about Ned's character. Lyanna grasped her hand in earnest:

"Don't believe those who say Ned is cold and severe. He's just so quiet, often lost in his musings. But he's a wonderful man, kind and loving and painstakingly honest, and a good lord in the making."

"Truly, La… Lyanna?"

"I assure you. It's not an attempt to cast my brother in a favorable light. You have my word. Ask any of the servants, they'll tell you the same."

Catelyn smiled, this time a more certain and confident smile.

"I'm so glad. You can't imagine how relieved I am."

"I wish I could say the same," Lyanna coughed out. "As you know, Catelyn – may I call you so as well, good-sister? – I'm about to be wedded to Jaime Lannister."

"Oh!"

"You _don't_ know? Ah, old Jon's raven must have missed you. He sent one to me when you have already left Riverrun. Yes, Catelyn, it's Her Grace the future Queen sneezing here in front of you," she said mockingly, and both of them laughed. 

"I think you'll find a way to deal with Lannister," Catelyn said admiringly. "I wish I had your character. Brandon, may his soul rest in peace, told me a lot of you. You'll make a good Queen."

"I have no choice. I'm the only unwed lady from a great house. But I hate to leave Winterfell!" she broke into coughing. 

Remorse flashed into Catelyn's eyes:

"Forgive me! All this talking must have been too much for you. I'll call for the maester."

Lyanna was thankful. She did feel exhausted. Before Catelyn left, she felt her hands, still cold from the journey, rest on her aching forehead.

 _A dear girl she is. Kind and friendly. She_ will _grow to love Winterfell. And Ned… I wish at least them to be happy,_ Lyanna thought before falling into a feverish sleep.


	6. Cersei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei doesn't take well the news of all the upcoming marriages.

Casterly Rock felt like a prison. She guessed it had always been. A prison made for her, for a woman. Everyone had been making war for the past months, and she was forced to stay at the Rock and wait, wait, wait.

"I should have been born a man and Jaime a girl," she thought bitterly for the hundredth time. She was always the braver and more daring one. It was her who didn't fear the lions. It was her who was clever and cunning. Jaime liked battles, for sure, but it was inevitable for him since he _was_ a man. Had he been a woman, he would have lived just fine. Nevertheless, she loved him as it was.

Cersei smiled, remembering their passionate farewell before Jaime rode off to the Rebellion. Of course, it was disgraceful for their father, a Lannister, to be killed like this, but in the end, it was for the better. There was no one to hide from. Well, apart from Tyrion. She cringed. Oh, such a pity that Tyrion was a dwarf and a child still. If he wasn't, he could have gone to fight and been killed for good. Why was Jaime so fond of him?

"Never mind," she told herself. "We'll send Tyrion away. Somewhere. He wants to become a High Septon, it seems – fine, let him! The Kingdoms have seen worse Septons."

She saw horses approaching, the red-gold banner flapping in the wind. Cersei walked downstairs. The entourage was too small to be Jaime's, besides, as the leader of the victorious army Jaime would have to remain in King's Landing for longer than that. Therefore, it was one of her uncles, bearing some news of importance.

It was. As Cersei went to the main hall to greet the visitors, she saw the chubby form of Uncle Kevan, her father's favorite brother.

"My lord husband!" Lady Dorna Swyft wailed, barely keeping her balance. Cersei looked at the woman with disdain. As her good-niece, she had no choice but accept Lady Dorna to keep her company during the war, but oh, how she resented her. The chinless, breastless fool, interested in nothing but praying, gardens and needlework. Whatever Uncle Kevan saw in her was beyond Cersei.

Lady Dorna ran out of the gates, crying happily, as Cersei winced and followed her in more slow steps.

"Now, now, my dear, let me get off my horse at least," Kevan said, blushing faintly. He dismounted his red courser and handed the reins to his squire:

"Tend to it."

The squire bowed without a word and left. It was a tall boy with long black hair overshadowing his face, dressed entirely in black as well.

"Who's that?" Dorna asked.

"Oh!" Kevan smiled. "My new squire. A fierce boy, I must say. Lord Clegane's younger brother. Practically saved my life several times."

"You should scold him about his clothing," his wife noted. "Everyone's celebrating, and he wears black."

"Don't mind him, dear, he's mourning. His sister died in the beginning of the Rebellion."

"Well, enough of that!" Cersei cut in. "Any news from King's Landing, Uncle?"

"Not just any news. I'm full of them," Kevan said. "First, the good. The Mad King's dead. Tried to scratch out Jaime's eyes. Didn't believe till the last moments that he had lost."

"Serves him right!" she scowled. "What about his spawn?"

"Rhaegar and Viserys, along with Ella and the little princess, haven't been found. Queen Rhaella's taken hostage, and she refuses to speak a word of her sons."

"Do you mean you can't find two Targaryens and two Dornish girls in one city?"

"Cersei, they haven't necessarily fled away after the city was taken. Indeed, I believe they ran before and now can be anywhere. Rhaegar wasn't among the fighting during the last days."

"You allowed him to escape?" Cersei was incredulous. 

"My dear niece, don't be so naive. There has been a flood of people leaving King's Landing, not a single Valyrian blond among them. If we were to concentrate on fighting, we couldn't have examined every single fugitive and searched through every cart."

Cersei paced through the hall angrily. How could Jaime possibly allow it? No one took the Mad King seriously, anyone could have killed him anytime. But many people were looking forward to crowning Rhaegar, handsome, romantic, and brave. It was Rhaegar that posed the true danger. But no, Jaime had to kill that lunatic Aerys, and now probably considers himself the valiant victor. How can it be called a victory at all if both heirs aren't captured?

"Well," she said through gritted teeth. "What's the rest of the news?"

"Jaime has agreed to take the throne for himself."

As the words sank in, for a moment Cersei had forgotten her anger. She was so elated she could hardly feel the ground beneath her feet. Jaime, a king! He'd be allowed to make his own laws! They would be able to wed!.. Wait... was it "agreed"?

"Whom did he agree with?" she asked. Kevan grimaced:

"Jon Arryn. The old man has gathered hundreds of supporters. For Jaime, he _says_. You must see, Cersei, that your brother is no ruler on his own."

"He's too young, that's all."

Her uncle chuckled:

"You don't seem to think _you_ are too young, and you're but a few moments his senior. No, Cersei. He has to have someone behind him."

"Tell him, then! Uncle, what are you, a Lannister of Casterly Rock or a tree trunk? Jon Arryn be damned, Jaime will accept you as his Hand..."

"Then we'll have a second war mere days after the end of this one. Stark, Tully, everyone is for Jon Arryn's cause."

"The second war will finish them!" she yelled.

"Or us," Kevan corrected. "The troops are exhausted. Besides, they've fought side by side against the Mad King – it would be hard to convince them to fight one another."

She looked at him with hatred. Uncle Kevan was always like this! Let the others think, let me rest! He obeyed Father unquestioningly, and now that Father was dead, he just wished to be left alone.

"To secure the future of the realm," the man continued, "Arryn has arranged a match between Jaime and Lady Lyanna Stark."

What?!

"No!" Cersei cried. "It can't be!"

"It is. I was too late: it's already announced all over the Kingdoms, and people are cheering for the union of the North and the South."

Cersei clenched her fists, wishing Lyanna Stark was there, so that she would have throttled her:

"We can't allow this!"

"Much as I detest the Starks, my child, it is a wise move after all. If we only could bind the Greyjoys to us just as easily..."

She wasn't listening. Jaime, lost to her! It was impossible! Was Lyanna Stark one whole being with him? Did he hold Lyanna as he came into the world? No, it was only her, he was meant for her and no one else. For a split second, Cersei wished she'd have been born a Targaryen.

"What is more," Kevan said, not noticing, fool that he was, her turmoil. "Jon Arryn, who has no living heirs, intends to marry you. After all, it is fitting, the King's Hand married to the King's sister."

That almost made her vomit, the thought of the sickly old man sharing anyone's bed, least of all hers. Until suddenly Cersei realized it was actually the best thing under the circumstances. Marriage to Jon Arryn meant life at court, and life at court meant closeness to Jaime. Why, it was the salvation! If her new bridegroom had been in the room, she'd have kissed him a hundred times and perfectly willingly. It all would be easy, at least on her side. She'd give him his precious heir, and then he'll leave her alone, the elderly weakling. He wasn't stupid, he'd know his young wife would satisfy her needs elsewhere, so she wouldn't be watched over. The only difficulty remaining was that damned Lyanna.

_She's a Northerner, and they hate us. It would be just the same. An heir for Jaime, and then she'd certainly go home to her Winterfell._

"What happened to Lysa Tully?" Cersei asked, feeling a weight being lifted from her chest. "I recall old Trout discussing her possible marriage with first Jaime and then Arryn."

"You haven't heard that yet?" Kevan assumed an air of scandalous amusement. "Lady Lysa got herself ruined with young Petyr Baelish and was silly enough to announce it to everyone in the Riverlands. Poor old Lord Hoster has gone away the same time as myself, to deal with the mess."

No good to us, Cersei thought. She managed a dutiful laugh, as Uncle was obviously intending to cheer her up. 

Then he insisted on going to the library and meeting Tyrion. As the misshapen boy happily hugged Kevan, Cersei absentmindedly walked along the gigantic bookcases. She rarely cared for books, but something on a faraway bookshelf caught her eye. 

_Poisonous Minerals and Herbs of Westeros: from the North to Dorne_

Maintaining the careless air, Cersei took the heavy tome from the shelf and opened it. The Crownlands. About a hundred pages. The Vale. Practically the same amount. 

Cersei Lannister smiled joyfully. 

Who said a Hand can't be a woman?


	7. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is caught in a whirlwind of politics, when the celebration of victory is still ongoing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry, I know it took me a bit longer than "a week or so", but I had to take two exams in three days.

"Hail to our new King! Our golden hero! A thousand cheers for King Jaime Lannister!"

Truly, who was it who had the idea of throwing flowers and sprinkling rosewater at the hero's feet? Jaime blinked and tried to rub his eyes as elegantly as he could as drops of sweet wine showered onto his face. His white horse shied away from the falling flowers. And all the time, Jaime had to maintain a smile on his face. Curse it all, he was tired of the victory celebration in its very beginning.

"My king!" a plain young girl squeaked, throwing an entire bouquet to him. _At_ him, rather. It hit Jaime on the cheek, and he hardly managed to catch it and still smile at the girl, who almost swooned with delight.

A feast was being prepared in the Red Keep, and many smaller ones in the city. Jaime and his uncles had to pay handsomely. The folk who cheered at him so deafeningly didn't even thank them for that. 

 _They think slashing through an old crazy fool is harder than gathering money to celebrate in a starved city_ , he thought, bored, and grinned at another maid who was blowing kisses at him.

Finally, he made it to the palace, where Jon Arryn was already waiting. Leaving the people to feast in the hall, Jaime went with him and Uncle Kevan to the Hand's Tower.

"First thing you need," Arryn began, without even greeting him, "is to try and find the young Targaryens."

"Thank you, I haven't thought of it at all," Jaime replied, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Now, my lord, it's nothing to laugh about. Many people adored Rhaegar. Many still do. What if he returns someday – with an army?"

"And where would he find one? Tell me, please. All our troops have declared for me. With the marriage to Lyanna, we'll have the North as well, which doubles our numbers. Who will go with Rhaegar? Smallfolk?"

"He must have fled to Essos," Kevan spoke. "If I were him, I would have certainly done so. On that continent, a shadow of old Valyria still lingers. A Targaryen may find lots of supporters."

"Uncle, please, spare me! The Kingdoms are regaining their strength back. Rhaegar has absolutely nothing to offer any possible supporters. Beside a strong, powerful enemy."

Arryn and Uncle Kevan exchanged worried looks. Jaime had to stifle a yawn: damn, they love making a fuss out of practically nowhere! Why, why did he ever agree to take this crown? _Must have been drunk_.

"Although," Arryn said, in a bit more cheerful tone, "we do have a huge advantage over Rhaegar. Something to hold him at bay for a long while."

"Ah, of course. His mother's our hostage, isn't she?"

"Aye. Moreover, the maesters confirmed today that she's three months with child. The woman tried to hide it, of course, but apparently she couldn't bring herself to use moon tea. So, if everything goes well, we'll have _two_ hostages to keep the youth from making a step towards the throne."

"And what if he cares more for that hedgehogish thing than for his kin?" Jaime wondered.

"As far as I know him, that's not possible. Remember, he was hesitant to strike down his father – strike down _Aerys_! I have every reason to think it wasn't cowardice but family duty and affection. That's why I ordered my men to spare Lady Rhaella. Every strike Rhaegar will dare to make will echo onto her."

"Good," Jaime said airily. "Uncle Kevan, perhaps I could go to Casterly Rock while the townspeople are celebrating?"

"Jaime! No way! _I_ will go. You need to be here. Besides, Lady Lyanna will soon arrive."

The new king groaned. The more he heard of that Lyanna, the less eager he became to wed her. And he hadn't even had a chance to talk to Cersei – to explain! Maybe a raven would do? No – no, it's far too dangerous. What if it's intercepted? But wait, he can write it without mentioning names... no, still too risky. Not only his sister can recognize his handwriting. 

"...Don't you agree, my lord?"

"What?" Jaime blinked. "Oh. Oh. Certainly. You are absolutely right, Lord Hand."

Looking very pleased with Jaime remembering his title, Jon Arryn said:

"Very well. I think my wedding will take place about half a moon past yours – or would you like them joint?"

The young man felt rage rising in his chest, as he realized he had just given his consent for Arryn to wed Cersei. _Calm, calm. Let her arrive in King's Landing, and you'll both think it over._

"No, indeed, I think they'd be better separate. The celebrations will be for both at once, though. The people won't calm down in two weeks anyway."

"That settles it. Now, to pass to another pressing matters... How is it with the small council? Chelsted killed, Staunton and Ser Hightower too, Velaryon is in hiding somewhere around Dragonstone, the younger Baratheon will take care of him... Whom do you propose to appoint instead?"

"Um," Jaime looked absentmindedly around him, as if possible members of the small council would climb inside the windows. "Er. Good question. Well, I think... you, Uncle, would do well. And Uncle Tygett, and Uncle Gerion too."

"The small council wouldn't do to contain three members of one Great House at once," Kevan advised gently. "I think Tygett won't do. He was always jealous of Tywin, and now of you."

"And Gerion's too young," Arryn noted. "Kevan will be an excellent master of laws."

Uncle Kevan tried mostly in vain to hide his embarrassed smile. He was a rather extraordinary man – looked like a round-faced overweight idiot, and was in fact one of the cleverest men in the realm. 

"Benjen Stark might grow to be an advisor in the future," Arryn mused. "The boy's brave, no doubt..."

"He's going to take the black, Arryn. I heard him tell so to Lord Eddard."

"Ah. And Eddard will never leave his precious North."

It was getting very tiring for Jaime.

"If Stannis Baratheon overthrows Velaryon, I think we could count on him as our new master of ships," he said in what he hoped was a decisive tone. "I'll place Hoster Tully as master of coin, until we find anyone more suitable. As for the Kingsguard's Lord Commander, I believe we'll pick Barristan the Bold. He asked for pardon, and I've given it. A true knight, if there ever was one. Varys, I suppose, wants to continue his job – why, let him, the chap has brains."

"I've read of some crazy alchemist who believed that only if you're unmanned, your brains function best," Kevan chuckled.

"Ugh! I think I have enough of them in my head as it is."

They paused. Sounds of music, laughter and loud voices echoed from below.

"Hail to the Golden Lion! The Dragonslayer!"

"You'd better show yourself to your subject, boy," Kevan said, patting him on the back. "Before they believe you're a legend from the Age of Heroes. Or before they say of you having a winged horse and a magical sword with a blade of solid gold."

Sighing deeply, Jaime went back down and watched, exhausted, as the Great Hall erupted into cheers at the sight of him. Another bouquet (his first order as the king will be to forbid bouquets, he was pretty sure of it) hit him square in the brow.

"Our king! Our king!" everyone shouted madly. _And these are the folks who hated my father, believing him to be in league with Aerys. How good it must be to be one of them, who doesn't have to worry about the Great House and other bloody useless things..._

Many ladies fiercely made eyes at him as he walked past them. But Jaime was in no mood for dancing. What he wanted was to visit the stables and see how his horse fares after that rosewater shower.

The horse was fine, it neighed in greeting and looked to see if he had brought anything edible with him.

"Nothing today, I fear," Jaime smiled. "Don't worry, you'll have a kingly feast of your own very soon. We've done a very good work..." Clashes of steel and angry yells only yards away interrupted him. _What? A rebellion against myself already?_ He was so irritated with kingship that he believed he'd welcome one a lot.

The "rebellion" turned out to be two tall youths battling furiously with each other. After staring at them for several moments, Jaime realized who these were – Ser Gregor Clegane and his brother Sandor. And it didn't look like a training fight. Quite the contrary.

"Now, stop at once, I said _STOP_!" Jaime barked. The brothers, noticing him for the first time, stopped abruptly and knelt, their eyes shooting daggers at each other. It was pretty obvious they would continue as soon as he was out of sight.

"Sandor, go to the Hand's Tower, my uncle has asked for you," he blurted out. The younger boy got up, threw some hair over his horrific burns and left without a word. 

"Idiot," Gregor muttered under his breath, then asked aloud:

"My king, would you permit me to return to my Keep? I'm to wed Evelana Hill, Lord Jast's bastard."

Jaime looked at him suspiciously. The young knight was priceless on the battlefield, at seventeen already towering over most of grown men. But Jaime had heard all sorts of disgusting rumors concerning him. Some even said that his little sister Ynnete, the dimple-cheeked pink-faced girl Jaime vaguely remembered from his visit to Clegane Keep, didn't fall off the stairs by herself, but with some aid of Ser Gregor... Somehow, Jaime had an inkling of suspicion that Evelana Hill, whoever she was, would hardly find any domestic bliss.

_Come on, if you start to sort out family problems of every bannerman of yours, you'll never get very far with your reign. Rumors are nothing but rumors. Also, if the two brothers remain here in the same city, they will be nothing but trouble._

"Of course," he nodded to Gregor, who bowed and went to the stables.

Jaime sat on a bench and looked into the sky.

_Cersei, where are you?_


End file.
